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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479640">Part of Your World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visinata/pseuds/Visinata'>Visinata</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baz in glasses, Baz kisses lots of people, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Spell, Little Mermaid spell, M/M, Simon is angry at lots of people, Simon's a magickal disaster, Truce, True Love's Kiss, Watford Eighth Year, relatively fluffy, spell gone wrong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:40:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visinata/pseuds/Visinata</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not Baz's fault that he has all the songs to The Little Mermaid memorized - you try living with a houseful of younger siblings. And it’s not Baz's fault that Simon is a magkcial screwup - but it is very much his problem. </p><p>What begins as an easy day watching a film in class, ends with a life-or-death, magic-or-no-magic decision, and a (fruitless?) search for Baz's true love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Golden Days: a Simon Snow Series zine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Part of Your World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for the Carry On Zine. It was a tremendous honor to have been a part of the zine and I hope you take a look at the other wonderful fics and art that were a part of it.</p><p>The incredible (and funny) art created to go with this fic was done by the extremely talented Penpanoply, who can be found on  <a href="https://penpanoply.tumblr.com">here on Tumblr</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It happens in the middle of class. We’re watching The Little Mermaid, with Ms. Possibelf occasionally flicking her wand to </span>
  <b>see what I mean</b>
  <span> important phrases into the air above the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ordinarily I’d be as focused on the lesson as anyone. More focused. But thanks to Mordelia and the twins I have every nuance of this film memorized back to front. Which is why when it happens, I am—curse my life—singing along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon’s sitting next to me—he does that now, since the truce—and while the rest of the class is focused on the screen, I'm watching him. Tawny forearm, callused hand, moles and freckles galore. The paper he's taking notes on slips from his desk and sails through the air, coming in for a landing under my chair. I could pick it up and hand it back to him, but the truce means we work together in private. It doesn't mean we cooperate in public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz,” Simon whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ignore him and continue singing along with Ursula under my breath. She is, objectively, one of the best characters in the Disney canon. Even though sea witches don't actually exist, thank Morgana. If they did, the Mage would have them bunking up in the moat and attending Magick Words in bath tubs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon says my name again and taps my shoulder. I raise my voice just enough to make it clear he's being ignored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs and swings out a leg in a fruitless attempt to reach his paper, while on the screen Ursula explains the terms of the contract to Ariel and breaks the news that she’ll be paying with her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ariel begins singing the wordless melody that takes her voice away, Simon Snow, the absolute waste of magic, reaches out with his freckled hand and grips my wrist. The shock that runs through me sends my voice into high gear and, for a terrible instant, I’m singing along loudly, with magic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls back immediately, leaving me empty and gently smoldering on the inside. The idiot was pushing his magic into me. No eyes are on the screen now; they’re all boring into me. I gather my composure with difficulty, still mildly giddy from the afterglow of Simon’s magic, and level my best glare at him. He flinches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry! Sorry!” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sneer, and open my mouth to retort. But nothing comes out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bunce gasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like Ariel, on the screen clutching at her throat, my voice is gone. And my whole body feels off. Too heavy, too hot, everything is blurry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snow is saying my name, and I must be letting my rising panic show, because there’s alarm in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz,” he repeats. “Are you all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shove myself up from my desk and storm out of the room.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz isn’t in Greek or Advanced Elocution, and by the time I sink down next to Penny at tea I’m tearing my hair out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s going to murder me,” I groan, pulling the butter dish across the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you seen him? Is he angry about his voice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could he not be? I’m doomed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well he knows it wasn’t intentional.” She dips a biscuit into her tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when has Baz gone easy on me because my fuckups are accidental? And where </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> he? Do you think something’s seriously wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “Maybe he went to the nurse for help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He never goes to the nurse.” I heave a frustrated sigh and pound my head into my hands. “The truce was going so well, and now this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny downs the last of her tea and stands. I’ve only managed one scone. My stomach is in knots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go see if he shows up to practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz does show up (late) and gives the world’s most dramatic eye roll when he sees us in the stands. That’s not new. But the way he’s playing—like he’s pushing through treacle—is. He’s winded after running down the field and he keeps missing goals. Crowley. I’ve never seen him so uncoordinated. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, after practice I can’t avoid the stands as I leave the pitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bunce is waving her whole arm at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basil,” she calls. “Meet us in the usual spot after supper and we’ll get this sorted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stalk by as though I haven’t heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Supper. Merlin, I’m hungry. But I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about raw meat, rare steak, about Simon, warm and full of blood. The telltale pressure in my gums never comes. I veer towards the woods to search for a rabbit or a bird. The usual surge of revulsion is there, but the need that overshadows everything when I’m on the hunt isn’t. Thankfully. With the way I’m feeling today I wouldn’t be able to catch anything even if I wanted to. My hearing is muddied and faint, I’m too slow, and I’m still having difficulty seeing.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop and hold my hands up in front of me. There’s a red-gold tinge to my skin, like it belongs to someone alive. When I bring them to my face, everything feels warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon Snow, most incompetent savior of saviors, has managed to do what no one in my family—what no one in the history of magic—could. I’m human again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears begin sliding down my cheeks. He’s fixed me. I’m not broken anymore. Because of Simon, I’m no longer a monster. I’m a sobbing mess, but I’m human. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At supper I fill my plate for the first time in years and actually eat. Dev and Niall, good men, don’t so much as blink. Snow, on the other hand, can’t stop staring. Every time I look up, he’s just turning away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After supper, both he and Bunce give me meaningful looks before scuttling off together, presumably to wait in our room, ready to figure out how to fix Snow’s latest disaster. How to fix </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But I don’t need fixing. Snow’s already taken care of that. I’ve never been better. Something light is beating at the inside of my chest. I think it’s hope. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead of doing what the dynamic duo wants, I finish my shepherd’s pie and head to the Catacombs—out of habit, and because I want to speak to my mother. Also because I’m not sure how to explain that there’s nothing they need to solve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minute I’m past the statues of Seuss and Carroll I realize I’ve made a mistake. The dark is impenetrable. Like the inside of a coffin. I haven’t needed a light to guide me through the Catacombs since I was a scared eleven year-old, but today I do. I hold my hand out, palm up, and take a breath before I remember I can’t speak the words to summon a flame. Or to do anything else. The joy that’s been bubbling through me since my breakdown in the woods stutters and begins to contract.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter. I trail my hand along the wall to guide me towards my mother’s grave. It’s fine. This is fine. This is better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I walk and walk in the dark until I’m forced to admit that it isn’t. I never realized how much I relied on my heightened senses. Lacking them, and unable to cast a finding spell or summon a flame, I’m lost. I don’t have a plan for escaping this coffin darkness. I stop and lean my back against the wall. It’s a dreadful feeling—the way the cold stones pull the warmth from my body. When I was cold all the time it didn’t make a difference. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand in the dark, shivering, until my happiness at being human again is barely there. I hated being a vampire. I hated the hiding, the fear, the knowledge that I was a constant danger to everyone I love. But if I was a vampire right now, I’d know how to manage. I don’t want to be human anymore. I don’t want to be a vampire anymore either. I want to be nothing. I try not to collapse into tears for the second time in one day as I wonder if there’s anything between monstrous and pitiful. Unlovable and unworthy.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope tried to stop me. Said I should give Baz his space. That I’m his roommate, not his keeper. But I can’t shake the feeling something’s wrong. I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span> something’s wrong. But, well… he should be here by now. I beeline for the Catacombs—even though I suspect Baz doesn’t need rats anymore—and follow the path he usually takes. He’s not there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz!” My cry is absorbed by the musty darkness beyond the beam of my torch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wander the maze of tunnels shouting his name and shining my light. Hoping if he’s here he’ll come to me. Finally I round a corner to see a tall figure shuffling my way. Baz. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When we reach each other I give his shoulder a quick squeeze, in a sort of, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey mate, I’m here,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” way. He’s trembling.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t see in the dark anymore, can you?” I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses his lips together, then shakes his head. He looks… I don’t know. Defeated? Broken?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about reaching for him again, holding his hand like the last time we were close together in the dark. That time there were stars. But I don’t reckon sharing my magic would be helpful just now. Or welcome. And Baz doesn’t need me to hold him while I guide him from the darkness, he just looks like he does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back in the light of the chapel, he pulls a notepad from his bag. It’s posh, of course; the pages are thick and smooth and cream-colored, with his monogram at the top. In poncy green ink, he writes,</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he adds, </span>
  <em>
    <span>You insufferable twat. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn towards Mummer’s House to hide my smile. He tugs at my sleeve. When I look, his notepad says,</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to take care of something. You go on ahead.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back in our room, Penny’s on my bed with The Little Mermaid playing on my laptop and a leather-bound volume of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales open beside it. I watch with her, until Baz opens the door and my brain short circuits. He’s wearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>glasses. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He looks like a lawyer—a frowning, fit, footballer lawyer. He raises an eyebrow at me, which should be irritating, but instead, the way it arches above the dark green frames makes him look even more bloody put together than usual and sends an uncomfortable twist right through me. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turns out that as a human I’m nearsighted. Before I returned to our room I stopped by the infirmary and had the nurse magic me up a pair of glasses. Calvin Klein. Forest green. Sophisticated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Snow’s gaping at me, jaw hanging wide. Mouth breather. Bunce looks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello Basil. I’ve made a list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course she has. I raise an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snow shakes his head—possibly in an attempt to bring his brain back online, and starts talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“According to the story—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Film version </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>book</span>
  <em>
    <span>,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bunce interjects.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve three days—more like two now—before you’re stuck like this forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Have you figured out how to break it? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I write.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flush begins creeping up Simon’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to… you’ll need someone—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll need someone to kiss you,” Bunce finishes. “And it can’t be just anyone. You need True Love’s Kiss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is hopeless,” Simon says, tugging at his hair. “There’s no way Baz’ll get someone to love him in two days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you Snow. You’re no prize yourself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean— It’s just… two days… it’s not a lot of time, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First things first,” Bunce says. “What does ‘true love’ even mean, in the context of a fairy tale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re all silent. I assume the others are doing the same thing I am, running through the list in their heads: Snow White, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seeing a future together,” Simon says, looking up at me. “Having a happily ever after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t take any more of this conversation. I retreat into the loo with my pyjamas and hope Bunce will have the decency to show herself out. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Baz,” Simon says, once we’re both lying in our beds in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to answer, but… you do </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> us to break the spell, yeah? It’s just… I thought maybe you’d not want to go back to how you were; I don’t think you liked being a vampire. But… I don’t know how well you’re coping without your magic either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bloody perceptive moron is right. This morning I felt like Simon had given me my life back. I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> them to figure out how to break the spell. But I miss my magic like I’d miss my heartbeat. And being human hasn’t solved my problems the way I thought it would. Life as a human seems to come with its own set of difficulties. And the distance I’ve felt between myself and the rest of the world since my adolescence—and my bloodlust—hit is still there. I thought it was a symptom of the vampirism, but maybe it’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The next time Daphne sends Father to ask if I’d like to speak with a therapist, perhaps I should say yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz?” Simon says again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haul myself out from under the covers and close the space between our beds</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I write. He squints at my notepad in the meager shaft of light from the window, then peers up at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop talking.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He punches his pillow as I retreat to my bed, from which I can barely make out his shape in the near blackness. I am no longer able to watch him in the dark. I thought my vampirism had taken all the good parts of being human away, but now being human is ruining the small joys I’d managed to find. I close my eyes and listen to Simon toss and turn in the dark.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz is never what I would call </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but since the accident he’s been worse. Like someone (me, I reckon) has added an extra layer of shit to the load of manure he’s always carrying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nick his posh notepad at breakfast and sketch him playing cards with Ursula. (In my sketch he’s wearing his new glasses.) (I’m a little bit obsessed with his glasses.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs it back, and smacks me on the head with it when I walk through the door to Magick Words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spend the rest of the morning taking it off him whenever I can (I think he’s letting me). I reply to his insults, answer rhetorical questions, and even doodle some more pictures. Just to irritate him. Or maybe I’m doing it to entertain him. I’m pretty sure I saw his lip twitch at the drawing of him and Ursula, and I’m dead certain I caught him smiling at the sketch of him (in glasses) walking a merwolf on a lead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I grab his notepad away from him during the last class of the morning he’s written </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell Bunce to skip lunch and meet us in our room. I’ll bring sandwiches so your brain doesn’t short out. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> <a href="https://penpanoply.tumblr.com/"></a></p><p>
  <span> BAZ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Snow and his sidekick walk through the door, I toss him a bacon roll, then turn to Bunce and write, </span>
  <em>
    <span>We need to start testing subjects.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon reads over her shoulder, then looks up at me. “Subjects?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Girls,” Bunce says, “for him to kiss. Let’s make a list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Listening to Snow rattle off the names of all the girls he thinks he’s ever seen make eyes at me is a special kind of torture. And most probably futile. I sigh silently and pick up my pen.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz scrawls something in his notepad and thrusts it at us while he looks resolutely at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll want to consider boys as well</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz,” Penny says, “are you bi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t get to ask that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he writes.</span>
  <em>
    <span> I shouldn’t have to tell you any of this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny squints at him, like he’s a difficult astrology problem she’s just about worked out. “We already know a lot of your secrets, don’t you trust us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny, leave him,” I say. “He doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz shoots me a look that I can’t quite decipher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scan our list of potential kissing partners and say, “What blokes should we add to this, then? Who likes you Baz? Dev’s your cousin, yeah? So he’s out. What about Niall?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz grimaces and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re a right pillock to everyone else in trousers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny smacks me. “Plenty of the girls wear trousers, Simon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, I can’t think of any blokes he’s not antagonized. Who could possibly like him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had no trouble thinking of girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s because he’s well fit isn’t he? They’re all swooning over him constantly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz shoves his pad in front of my face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m right here, you know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stalks out of the room and doesn’t let me nick his notepad during any of our afternoon classes.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I come out of the en suite at the end of the day, damp from my shower, Baz is lying in a curled heap on top of his bed. He looks awful. We spent teatime testing the top twelve candidates, but none of them broke the spell. It was heartbreaking to watch. Baz kept shoving his notepad at me, telling me if I was going to glare at each subject, I didn’t have to look, but I couldn’t turn away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” I nudge Baz’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head without looking at me. Then picks up the pad that’s never far from his hands and scrawls, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I feel horrible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” I sit on the bed beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hot, heavy. My nose is running, eyes are scratchy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might be coming down with a cold,” I put my hand on his forehead. “You’re warmer than usual, for you. But no fever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Being human feels awful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it worse than...” my voice trails away. I don’t know how to ask this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He writes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>being</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Human adjacent?” I supply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorts and nods. Then writes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Awful too. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoves the pad away and curls more tightly into himself.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know why I do it. He could punch me and ruin the truce—or set off the Anathema—but I climb carefully onto his bed and lie down, wrapping myself around him from behind. His whole body tenses and then, miraculously, relaxes. I feel him take a shuddering breath. We lie like this as the sun sets and the room darkens and Baz’s breathing evens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think he’s asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m drifting myself when he reaches for his pad and awkwardly, because my arm is still wrapped around his, begins to write. When he holds his pad over his shoulder for me it says,</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>If I had feelings for someone who didn’t feel the same way, do you think that person could break the spell?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to say yes. I want to find out who Baz fancies. I want to give him hope. But it would be a lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” I shake my head and my nose rubs back and forth through Baz’s silky hair. “You don’t need to share any more of your secrets. Penny said it might help if the two of you can picture a future together, but the important thing is that the kisser fancies </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest heaves in a silent sigh, then he rolls forward, elbowing me off the bed behind him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At breakfast on the third morning, Bunce clambers onto a chair, aims a </span>
  <b>Your attention please</b>
  <span> at herself and starts talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you may know, Basilton Grimm-Pitch is suffering from a fairy tale spell. He needs True Love’s Kiss before sunset today or the consequences could be dire. If you’ve ever fancied him at all, it’s possible you could be the one to break the spell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A collective murmur rises from the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snow is fidgeting in his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bunce continues, “If you want a shot at being a hero, or just want to kiss Baz, come to the abandoned choir room at teatime and give it a go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I deserve a bloody medal for the effort it takes me not to scowl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By half three, it seems the entire student body is lined up outside the choir room. Snow escorts me through the crowd, growling and throwing elbows at anyone who tries to grab an early kiss. I think about calling the whole thing off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bunce takes up guard position just outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready for this?” Snow asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know if I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want your magic back, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do. But skipping the rats and eating food in public has been quite nice, and breaking Simon’s spell means breaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it; </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> will go back to the way it was before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. Simon tilts his head at me and waits. When I don’t add anything more he calls to Bunce, “Send’em in.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> I’ve had more than my fair share of terrible days in my life, and this one is easily in the top five. My lips are chapped, my jaw is sore. I’ve endured fingers in my hair, hands on my face, and sweaty palms all over my uniform. At one point I sent Snow off with a note that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Magic up some sodding mints, Bunce</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Things improved after that. Marginally. It’s a good job I can’t talk, because I lost my ability to be polite hours ago. Finally the room is empty of everyone but me and Snow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baz has kissed. So. Many. People. And it’s been hard to watch. Worse than the dozen yesterday. Every time I hoped it </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> work and was relieved when it </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Every time I wondered if Baz was envisioning a future with the person he was kissing, if they were envisioning a future with him. What would that be like? A lovely house. Probably too posh. Lots of good food. Cedar and bergamot in the air. I can imagine it myself actually. And, hell—it sounds nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hate to think of everything he’ll be giving up if this doesn’t work. I think it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> worked. I don’t know who Baz will even be without his magic. Still fit, wickedly intelligent, sarcastic. He’ll still need those bloody glasses—that’s a plus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s sitting slumped in a chair, watching the sun set through the dusty window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try the comforting hand on the shoulder again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be so bad,” I say. “I’m sure you can stay at Watford. You can learn to cast in sign language, I reckon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scowls and stands. My hand slides off his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wish I could help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then I remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz,” I say. “There’s something we haven’t tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up at me abruptly. Hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When your mother came, she gave me a kiss. And she asked me to give it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rest my hand on his temple, at the spot where Headmistress Pitch kissed me.</span>
</p><p><span>I’m</span> <span>happy I’ve thought of something else we can try. I thought he’d be happy too, but there are tears gathering in his eyes.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon’s fingers are smoothing my hair away from my face. It would be incredibly soothing if everything about this situation wasn’t awful: I thought he was really about to kiss me and he’s not; I miss my mother; the time is almost up and my magic is almost gone for good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still rambling. “There’s nothing stronger than a mother’s love. At least, I imagine there isn’t. At any rate, your mother really loves you and I could...  do you want me to… ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes and nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel as he pushes himself up and leans into me until his lips are on my temple. They’re warm and a little rough and it’s not at all what I wanted from him, but it’s still so much. As he pulls away, my tears begin to fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon smooths them away with his thumb, then kisses my wet cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz,” he says, bringing his hands to either side of my face. I open my eyes and he’s so close. He kisses me again. And again. Following the path of my tears. And then his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me properly and it takes everything I have just to keep breathing. I don’t know how to kiss him back. I’m overwhelmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull back and look into his eyes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simon,” I whisper. My voice feels scratchy and scraped, but it’s there. It’s back. Once again Simon Snow has saved me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baz,” he says. Then we’re both crying and his arms are around my waist, clasping me roughly to him. I can feel my body begin to cool in his warm embrace. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bury my head in his neck, and breathe him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simon,” I say again. “You’ve done it, you bloody disaster. You absolute nightmare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs wetly through his tears, then his mouth is on mine again and I hope he never lets me go. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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